Curses
by Indiahenna
Summary: Allen knew running wouldn't be easy, and that his life would only get more uncertain from now on. What he hadn't counted on was a wrong turn in the Ark, a trip to an impossible place, or how this detour might affect his journey. Year 6.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

He panted as he ran down the white streets, the blaring sun shining overhead in an artificial city that looked warm and welcoming.

The city, laid out in levels of increasing size of concentric circles, was filled with doors opening to houses and rooms, though most led to the outside world. Allen needed one of those now. He'd shut down the door to the Order, the one labeled "Home," but fear and anticipation of being chased pushed him forward, searching for one door that would lead him somewhere the Order wouldn't look, or at least one to give him one hell of a head start.

He turned down an alleyway he'd barely used in the last few months, that he knew no one else who'd been in the Ark had been down, and grabbed the handle to the first door on the right, throwing himself and Timcampy, who followed closely behind, through it, hearing the door shut behind him as he fell.

When the light of the Ark brightened and his descent ended with a rough landing, Allen had to take a moment to collect his bearings before the chilly wind blasted right through him.

He was standing in an empty, darkened alleyway of what looked like a country village, a harsh, cold wind ripping between the buildings and throwing sleet and rain into his eyes. The unseasonable cold told Allen that wherever he was, it was in the north, and that was far enough for now that as his teeth chattered and the wind broke through his clothes he glanced at Timcampy and said the golem, "Let's find a hotel."

He wished he had a jacket. It was the first order of business.

That, and money.

He motioned for Tim to hide in his hair and then the two ventured out, Allen shutting the Ark door with a thought and hoping no one had seen the light and come looking. Sticking to the shadows and trying to find a spot that blocked the wind, he watched the street.

There was barely anyone outside, though given the weather that wasn't all too surprising. He glanced up the lane and then stepped out, walking quickly and rubbing his hands up and down his arms to stop the cold.

A delightful smell of cooking meat and baking bread wafted from an opening to another alley and Allen followed where his nose led. As he broke onto the main lane from the alley shortcut he saw people at last, bundled up against the weather and walking quickly with their heads down. Even with the weather though, the streets were oddly subdued and Allen frowned. No one stopped to look at him, though, for which he was grateful, and he ducked behind a dumpster to get a break from the wind and watch.

Soon he saw his opportunity; two men had stopped just inside the opening, to talk without being battered by the wind, speaking in low voices that Allen couldn't understand nor cared to. As the minutes and the attention of the two seemed solely on each other, Allen made his move.

Soon two strangers were lightened of their valuables and Allen was up on another street, looking for a clothing store and counting his "earnings".

This money was unlike any he'd ever seen; instead of bills and recognizable silver, he was holding several large golden coins, with a sprinkling of silver and copper ones as well. They were marked with weird words: Galleon, Knut, Sickle. He'd traveled all over the world with his master, and been to all kinds of places, but he didn't remember anything like these.

_Where did I land?_ He wondered, but then decided that money was money. He spotted a shop that looked promising and stepped inside.

The owner gave him a curious glance before approaching him with a practiced smile. "Can I help find you anything, young man?"

Allen smiled politely and in ten minutes walked out the door with a heavy sweater, tan overcoat, thick scarf, warm gloves, and a travel bag that the man said had an Extending Charm on it, whatever that meant. There had been a small issue with the money exchange where Allen had clearly had no idea how much the coins he held were worth, but it was smoothed over and when he asked where he could grab a bite to eat, was given directions to a pub called the Three Broomsticks. With a wave and a "Be careful," Allen was out the door.

He checked his money; he still had several gold and silver coins, which might be enough for a small meal but not for a room. It would have to do.

"So, England, Tim," he said absently, and he felt the golem nuzzle in his hair. It wasn't nearly far enough (not far at all, in fact) but he'd eat, take another trip in the Ark, and be someplace else by the end of the day.

The pub itself was easy to find; located on the main thoroughfare where the most foot traffic was, Allen followed the crowd and the scent of roasting meat again. As expected on such a nasty day, inside was crowded and busy, but Allen was perfectly fine with that; no one would notice him.

He ordered the special and a hot coffee, though the woman at the bar said they didn't serve coffee, but a butterbeer would warm him right up. Having no idea what a butterbeer was, he took her suggestion anyway.

"Coming right up, love, and the name's Madame Rosmerta if you need me," she said, smiling broadly. Allen smiled politely back and looked around at some of his fellow patrons.

The pub was full of a healthy mixture of adults in strange robe-like clothing and funky hats, and teenage boys and girls his age and younger, wrapped up against the weather, the majority having black cloaks draped over chairs or across laps. Most of them were with friends, laughing and having a good time in the warm room. The sight made Allen ache inside, and so he turned away and picked at the worn bar top.

The door to the pub was opened and a chill rushed into the space briefly before the door shut again, followed immediately by a shout that sounded like, "_He was nicking Serious's stuff!_"

Allen, like most of the bar, glanced back toward the door to see three teens standing there; the one that shouted, a black-haired boy with glasses, was standing fuming while his bushy-haired female friend whispered something at him, glancing warily around the bar. The third, a boy with fiery red hair, was glancing around the room, looking for empty seats. Allen turned back around, no longer interested.

Madame Rosmerta came back, placing before him a steaming soup bowl with bread and a tall tankard of a golden drink that he figured must be butterbeer. "That'll be four Galleons, love," she said, and Allen put down the coinage before thanking her.

"Will that be everything?"

"I think so, yes."

"Madame Rosmerta!" called a man further down the bar, and she went to address the order, leaving Allen to his lunch.

He took a swig of butterbeer and decided it was one of the best things he'd ever tasted.

He stayed long enough to finish the soup, have another butterbeer, and then resolved himself to a quick walk to find the gate and get out of here.

Stepping back into the nasty, stormy weather, Allen pulled the collar of his coat up against his neck and shrunk into his coat, trying to shrink into the background.

The hilly, windy set-up of the village had Allen lost in minutes, until he was walking down a lane leading outside the village, a little ways behind two groups of teens, including the one he'd seen earlier.

"Think if we get higher we can spot the street?" he said to Tim, who was hiding behind his collar from the wind.

The wind carried voices down to him and Allen looked ahead to the teens, seeing beyond a group of three teens to two girls ahead of them, looking as if they were tugging on something between them. One of the girls pulled hard and suddenly the other was rising in the air, the package falling to the ground.

Allen and the teens ahead of him froze in their tracks as the girl rose six feet in the air, oddly graceful and silently, before her blank expression broke and she screamed in anguish.

The other girl with her began to scream and tried to tug her friend down to the ground; the others in front of him rushed forward, trying to help, and Allen ran toward them to see what he could do.

The teens had the girl on the ground and tried to restrain her, but she thrashed and continued to scream bloody murder in a way that reminded Allen too much of recent events.

"Stay there!" shouted the boy with black hair, "I'm going for help!"

He turned and stopped as he spotted Allen, who was breathing hard and staring at the screaming girl before meeting the boy's gaze.

"What happened?"

The boy shook his head and began to run down the lane, rushing past Allen, who stepped closer, trying to see what was happening.

He noticed the package, lying abandoned on the ground, and went around the group to see what it was. On the slushy ground lay a ripped brown package, where something glittered green from within it. He reached out to pick it up—

And that's when everything went to hell.

* * *

A few notes: In this story, Harry Potter and DGM are in the same timeline, same universe, where magic is possible. Takes place in year 6, with canon DGM up to chapter 205 when Allen leaves the Order, with select canon after. Keep that "select canon" bit in mind, but it's not coming into play for a while. I'm basically taking advantage of the hiatus to post this fic, since it won't be totally debunked for a while and I get to go a little nuts with headcanons. Also, if anyone would like to be a beta, I'm looking for someone to read over what I have, the plans for the story, and to help keep folks in-character and make sure everything that happens makes sense, and to dissuade me from writing anything that is just plain dumb. Thanks, I hope you enjoy the story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry watched in horror when, as he and Hagrid rushed around the corner to get Katie, he saw the white-haired stranger on the ground, screaming his head off, while a giant yellow ball with wings bared its teeth at Ron and Hermione, who looked panickedly between a hysterical Leanne and the thrashing stranger.

Hagrid shouted, "Get back! Lemme see 'em!" He stared at Katie for a moment before scooping her up, and then turned to look at the stranger and the yellow thing hovering over him protectively. Hagrid reached out but the thing growled. Hagrid frowned in determination and said to the creature, "I'm just tryin' ta help him."

The thing continued to growl and hover over its screaming companion, and Hagrid asked it, "Can you carry him?" which confused Ron, Harry, and Hermione. The thing stopped growling and nodded, before turned and scooping up the boy between its teeth, careful not to hurt him even as he continued to scream and thrash. Immediately, Hagrid was off, the yellow thing following close behind.

As Hermione asked Leanne what had happened, Harry identified the necklace. "I've seen that before," he said, explaining that he'd been in Borgin and Burkes and then continuing that Malfoy knew about it. He picked it up carefully with his scarf before the four of them trekked back to the school, where they met McGonagall just outside the castle. She led the group to her office.

Trying to control her tears and with many pauses, Leanne told McGonagall what happened with Katie, from when the girl went to bathroom, to her strange behavior with the package afterward.

"All right," McGonagall said, not unkindly, "go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madame Pomfrey to give you something for shock." When she was gone McGonagall turned on Harry, Ron, and Hermione and demanded, "What happened when Katie picked up the necklace?"

They explained how she floated and then screamed, and then Harry added, "And when I went to look for help, there was a boy there, with white hair."

"He reached over to touch the necklace," Ron said, "and then he started screaming too. After that, this big yellow thing came out of nowhere and wouldn't let any of us come near him."

"Where is this boy?"

"Probably in the hospital wing. The thing carried him and followed Hagrid to the castle."

"Do any of you know who he was?" They shook their heads.

"He looked like a student, but I've never seen him," Hermione said. She would certainly remember someone who looked like that—white hair and that shocking red scar, even with a quick glance, were memorable.

"Professor," Harry said after a moment, "can I see Professor Dumbledore, please?"

"Professor Dumbledore is away at the moment, he won't be back until Monday." Harry's face fell and McGonagall resisted an impatient sigh.

"Whatever you have to tell the headmaster surely can be shared with me, Potter."

Harry hesitated and then said, "I think Malfoy gave Katie that necklace." Ron and Hermione suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and McGonagall stared hard at Harry, frowning severely.

"That is a very serious accusation. What evidence do you have for this?" He didn't, not really—just a feeling.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy couldn't have given Ms. Bell the necklace. He was serving detention with me all afternoon."

"What?!"

"If that's all, Mr. Potter, perhaps you, Weasley and Granger should head back to the common room." Harry couldn't object much more, and so looking somewhat betrayed and frustrated, left, Hermione and Ron following after.

After the three left her office, McGonagall quickly made her way up to the hospital wing. As she entered the corridor, she could hear screaming from within the wing, and saw several students hovering outside, looking terrified yet curious of what could possibly be making that much noise.

"Back to your houses, all of you," McGonagall instructed harshly.

"Professor, what's happening?" asked a Hufflepuff.

"One of the students was injured, now back to your houses or it'll be points," she snipped, before entering the wing, where the screams intensified in volume and sent shivers down her spine.

When she entered, Hagrid was still there, hovering around the entrance, out of Madame Pomfrey's way, who was rushing between two beds, muttering spells as she went, first to stop the both of them from thrashing, then silencing the screams. The sight of two teenagers with mouths open in silent howls, however, did nothing to comfort McGonagall. The sight of her own student wrenched McGonagall, but the sight of the stranger—and the yellow thing that hovered by his side—had her head reeling in questions. They had to wait.

"Poppy," she called, and Madame Pomfrey glanced up, "is there anything I can do to help? Do we need to call St. Mungo's?"

"Get that thing away from the boy, I can't help him if it keeps hovering," she snapped, too busy for niceties. McGonagall eyed the yellow thing, which bared its teeth and growled at her. She glanced at Hagrid.

"Do you know what that thing is?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Not a clue. I tried to calm it, but nothing's worked. It won't leave that boy's side." McGonagall glanced over at the boy, straps the only thing keeping him on the bed as he tugged and pulled against the restraints.

"Have you ever seen him before, Hagrid? Is he a boy from the village?" Hagrid shook his head.

"'Fraid not. This is the first time. Must be just passing through." She shook her head at the unfortunate timing, and then cautiously approached the boy's bed, where the thing flew at her, its growling intensifying.

She cleared her throat and said in crisp tones, "My name is Professor McGonagall. Over there is Madame Pomfrey, our head nurse, and she is trying to help your friend." It wasn't working; the thing growled louder. The boy continued to thrash, and McGonagall wanted nothing more than to cast a Body Binding spell to stop it, but didn't, for fear of making the problem worse.

She walked away from the bed and back to Hagrid. "Has Leanne been up here yet?" she asked, and Hagrid pointed to a bed on the far side of the room, which was enclosed in curtains. She nodded her thanks and went over, cautiously opening the enclosure. Leanne sat on the bed within, a bottle of half-drunk potion in her hands as she cried, wiping at the tears. She looked up sharply as the professor came in, and McGonagall sighed.

"I am very sorry about Katie," she said, her voice stiff but not unkind. She wasn't used to this; comforting students had always been handled better by Albus, Poppy, and others. Poppy was busy right now, and McGonagall was quite certain Leanne shouldn't be left alone.

"Is there anything I can do for you, dear?" Leanne shook her head.

"No, thank you, professor," she managed, the effects of the potion beginning to take effect as she calmed down. She was still crying, but her sobs had quieted.

McGonagall stood awkwardly for a moment before asking, "Would you like me to walk you to the common room?"

"I want to stay with Katie."

McGonagall stared sympathetically at the girl, then shook her head. "I'm afraid there's nothing you can do for her until Madame Pomfrey treats her. Why don't you go back to the common room and join your friends? I think it'll be better than staying up here."

Leanne considered for a moment and then nodded slowly, coming to her feet and finishing the potion in one gulp. McGonagall opened the curtain and they walked together down the room, coming closer to the doors as well as the patients.

As they approaching the growling yellow thing McGonagall took out her wand to move the curtains so Leanne wouldn't see; but as she did Leanne stopped and stared at the thing.

"Come on," McGonagall urged, but Leanne wouldn't move. The yellow thing growled at them both, and, to McGonagall's surprise, Leanne took a step toward it, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

"He's your friend, right?" she said softly, and for a moment it stopped growling.

"Over in the other bed, that's my friend too," she said, and her voice choked for a moment. McGonagall placed a hand on her shoulder, meaning to steer her out of there, but Leanne brushed her off and took another step. "You'll see, Madame Pomfrey will fix him right up. She's the best, really."

The way she spoke to the thing was as if she desperately needed to believe it herself.

As though it understood, the thing stopped growling and shrunk slightly in size, but stayed by the strange boy, never leaving his side.

Leanne allowed herself to be led from the room, and as McGonagall took a last glance into the wing, she could see Poppy setting to work on the boy, while the yellow thing hovered nearby, guarding them both.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to KappasRule for looking over the chapter and volunteering to be my beta. Thank you also to the folks who've already reviewed and followed this story. I truly appreciate your support.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was only eight in the evening, but Madame Pomfrey was absolutely exhausted. The two cases of Katie Bell and "John Doe" had kept her working solidly for three hours, first to try to stop the thrashing and screaming, then to figure out how she could stop whatever was happening to them.

She sent a student who'd come in with a migraine to McGonagall, ordering him to get her to send a missive to St. Mungo's. The curse on the necklace was powerful, and the longer she worked, the more positive Poppy became that she would need further professional help. Hogwarts was not equipped for this level of care, and though she was competent and had treated all kinds of strange injuries in her time, she was just one person.

It would be a few hours until St. Mungo's could send someone over to collect the students; the parents of Ms. Bell would have to be informed, permission would have to be obtained (though that would take no time at all), and, most importantly, the mediwitches and wizards had to come to Hogwarts through alternate means. Apparition was not permitted on Hogwarts property. While normally a good thing, in this case it was extremely aggravating.

Hagrid had stayed in the wing to help with the other students, who came in during the afternoon, while Poppy worked on the two cursed children. While he couldn't perform any spells with a wand, anyone could hand someone a potion. Hagrid was liked by most students, and managed to keep the overly-curious from coming over to watch.

Poppy had managed to spell Katie Bell into a calmer state, but the John Doe was another issue. The yellow thing had finally stopped trying to keep her from the boy, but no spell would stop him from fighting the restraints or screaming. She'd Silenced the boy but, other than that, hadn't been able to do much to stop his reaction to the curse.

She had noticed his left hand immediately, but until now hadn't been able to examine it. It was blackened, and something green was lodged deep into the top of his hand. She came closer, wondering if, perhaps, whatever was embedded in his hand was stopping her from being able to perform her duties.

She reached forward, her wand in hand, and picked the hand up to examine it. The strange scaling on his knuckles only added to her curiosity as she looked at the green cross embedded in his hand. Carefully, she lifted her wand and cast a small spell, only meant to explore the magic within the cross.

She barely got out of the way fast enough as the boy's fingers suddenly extended into sharp points and his entire body glowed as a white cloak covered him and the mark over his left eye squirmed and spread.

The Silencing charm stopped working and an ear-splitting roar emitted from his throat, a sound truly terrifying to behold. The sudden scream grated on Poppy's nerves. An unholy strength came over the boy as he strained harder at the restraints, and in a rip of leather, they came apart. The boy came to his feet, his hand swiping and striking at the air as Poppy backed away.

Hagrid came running when he heard the screaming and stood back, his eyes wide at the sight of the unconscious boy on his feet, screaming and striking wildly with sharpened fingers, his body glowing white with the cloak that had come from nowhere, while his face was obscured by a strange mask. The red mark over his eye was constantly shifting and a high whining filled the air as a set of gears appeared above his eye.

"Wha' the hell—" Hagrid cried out, but Poppy was shooting spells, trying to Stupefy the boy and stop his advance.

"Hagrid, help me! He's not going down!"

Hagrid advanced, meaning to grab ahold of the boy, but the hand struck out and he barely evaded the hit. The boy stumbled and the hand struck the floor—marking deep gauges in the stone. Hagrid's eyes widened in shock but, when he looked back at the boy, he saw that his eyes were closed. John Doe was still unconscious.

The boy was unsteady on his feet, the wild swings making his movements unpredictable. He knocked his bed over, then the partition, the sharp left hand obliterating the equipment, smashing things apart and leaving deep scratch marks behind. At some point, his hand struck the wall and carved chunks of stone from it, smashing the windows and leaving shards of glass all over the floor.

The boy fell to his knees, the points of his hand smashed into the stone floor and got stuck inside. The boy continued to scream, his now comically-large right hand holding his head, slapping at his temple, while the screams intensified.

Suddenly he stilled, his whole body went rigid, and Poppy and Hagrid watched with mounting confusion as the color of his skin bled from pale white to…dark gray?

And then the screaming began again.

Poppy stopped firing spells at the boy; instead she cast a protective circle around him, meant not to keep him from being hurt, but to stop the damage from spreading any further. It, at least, was effective. He continued to howl, and his white, right hand smashed against the spell, but Poppy continually enforced it, the effort draining, but he didn't break through.

"Hagrid, I need you to get a message to Professor Dumbledore. Tell him it's an emergency and he needs to come back from London immediately. And find Minerva."

xox

Everything hurt.

A mild statement. But perfect nonetheless, for Allen's head felt like it was simultaneously collapsing and imploding, and sharp needles pressed into his body from all sides and images and memories flooded his head. Phantom pains and real pains hit him as he felt a hand rip a hole in his heart, his arm break and tear from his body as his Innocence disintegrated. He felt his body protest and scream and rip and tear as his own weapon attacked _something_ within him, destroying it from the inside.

He saw Mana succumb to the fever, watched Mana rise from the grave, saw himself killing the Akuma that Mana became. He felt the pain of the first time his Innocence activated, experienced the pain of being stabbed by Road's candles and from Kanda's sword impaling his gut. Then, as memories that weren't his own rushed around his head, he watched Alma Karma killing the Asian Branch Science Division and then observed helpless as Kanda murdered his only friend, and saw the ensuing battle after—felt the restrictive pain of being bound by CROW and then—

A face appeared, a grey face with golden eyes. It looked like Tyki's twin as it smiled and reached toward him and promised to take his body over; the words of his master repeated as he told him he would kill someone he loved; the sight of blood and the realization that he was truly dead in a lonely alleyway…

The remembrance of starvation and being abandoned, the tortuous nightmares of imagining first Kanda, then Lavi, then Lenalee, Komui, Miranda, Marie, Timothy, Tiedoll, Cross, and Link being ripped apart as he stood in their blood, his skin grey and his eyes gold and his smile indifferent—

He screamed and screamed and screamed and felt his mind begin to rip apart, until he no longer knew what was happening until—

_I will keep you together._

"No! GO AWAY!"

_I promise I will keep you alive. I will not let you die._

That voice, that horrible, dreaded voice filled his head above the screams, desperation, desire, and purpose in his voice as he pulled the pieces back together, one by one, Allen watching every memory and image flood his head once more as they were stitched back together, placed and viewed, then shut away. The pain intensified until he swore he couldn't feel it, only to have it redouble and return, torturing him until he wanted nothing except—

His eyes opened and darkness filled them, as he thrashed and screamed. It started all over again, until he realized that he was still dreaming.

And then, slowly, so slowly that it was a long, long time before he was ever aware of it or when it happened, the screams were silenced, and for a bit, there was peace.

He was sitting inside a room. Everything around the room was different scales of grey; dimensions that ran from near white, to blackness so deep that it seemed light wouldn't touch it. At the center of the grey stood a man, exhausted, his limbs shaky and his face covered in sweat, pale with effort and unrest, and yet he was smiling with satisfaction.

xox

It was hours later when the screaming finally stopped. The writhing mark over the boy's eye stopped moving, settling back to its original pentagram mark with the line down the side of his face. The left hand returned to normal, the green cross glinting ominously in the light of the candles that brightened the room, and the white cloak disappeared.

Last of all, the dark grey of the boy's skin faded away, leaving his skin sickly pale and covered in sweat. But he'd stopped moving and was breathing as if in a deep sleep.

Poppy rested on one of the beds while the St. Mungo's mediwitches moved the boy's body to a bed, which was where he was now resting.

"What happened?" McGonagall asked, standing beside the bed and holding Poppy's hand. She'd come up a little while ago, after Hagrid came to her office demanding to contact Dumbledore and telling her a wild story. She glanced over at John Doe's bed, scrutinizing the boy who now lay peacefully asleep, and then surveyed the damage he'd left behind.

Two beds and three partitions were smashed apart, there were several broken potions' bottles on the floor being cleaned up now—but most shocking of all were the chunks of wall now smashed into pieces on the floor and the deep gauges in the stone floor. Several inches deep, they looked as if a cat the size and weight of a small car had decided to sharpen its claws into the floor.

Madame Pomfrey explained quietly what had happened, sipping a cup of tea for her nerves. "I had you call Dumbledore to see what we should do with the boy. We can't let him be taken to St. Mungo's." McGonagall agreed. She went over to talk to the mediwitches, and Poppy turned her eye on the sleeping boy, a thousand questions running through her head.

She could hear Minerva arguing with the mediwitches, their voices rising at intervals. As she watched the boy sleep, she shivered as she remembered the screams, recalling memories of darker times, when He Who Must Not Be Named rose to power for the first time.

She finished her cup of tea, rose to her feet, and walked over to Minerva and the others to argue for John Doe to stay.

xox

Allen's eyes opened at the touch of something cool. He glanced around, and immediately panicked when he saw a room he'd never seen before. It was another mysterious place in the Order, they were going to torture him more, they—he glared at the woman who was wiping his forehead and she started back, eyes wide in surprise.

"Where—" he panted, glancing around the room. It was huge; beds were spaced evenly throughout, with many windows in stone walls, through which he could see it was night. Candles were lit all around the room, illuminating it in a soft, warm glow that he could have read by. All this was observed quickly, but it gave the woman the moments she needed to recover from her initial surprise and begin speaking to him, her voice steady and sure.

"This is the Hogwarts hospital wing. You are perfectly safe within these walls. I am Madame Pomfrey, the head nurse, and I am taking care of your injuries."

Allen's chest rose and fell and he was taking deep, steadying breaths. His eye was inactive and pain-free, so that was a good sign; he turned his attention to the woman—an older lady, in a white apron over a grey dress, damp cloth in one hand and a long, thin stick in the other. A bowl of water sat on his bedside table. She was staring at him in concern and caution, slowly lowering the arm with the cloth. She kept speaking when he remained silent, staring at her.

"You were brought in this afternoon. I was wiping your forehead with this." She raised the cloth briefly. "Excuse me a moment." She stood, leaving his side.

Allen tried to rise, but stilled when he felt restraints at his wrists. Looking down, he saw leather cuffs tying him to the bed, and frowned, taking a breath to keep back the rising panic in his chest. He could hear voices from far away, perhaps something that sounded like, "He's awake; I can't believe it—"

"How? Miss Bell hasn't stopped moving, the last report said so—"

"I don't know…he doesn't need…moved—"

"He should…St. Mungo's…other one—"

His head pounded from the effort it took to focus on the conversation, and he shut his eyes, his attention drifting easily away. Madame Pomfrey—that was her name, right?—came back with bottles in her arms and set them on the bedside table. He smacked his lips; they were dry, and a moment later, Madame Pomfrey was there with a glass of water.

"If I release one of your hands, you won't try to harm me, will you?" she asked steadily. Allen glanced at the bonds and then stared back at her.

"Why am I tied up?"

"I'll explain in a moment. I want your word."

Allen stared solidly into the woman's eyes, and she held his gaze. She was tense, trying to hide it with a calm voice. He glanced down at her hands. All she held was the glass of water in one hand and a stick in the other, the grip on the stick white, but steady. Whatever that was about…he nodded, meeting her gaze again.

"I promise." She waved the stick and the restraint on his left wrist came undone. Allen frowned but then figured the stick must have been some kind of remote. He took the glass silently and downed the whole thing in a moment, which caused him to cough when some of it went down the wrong way. He hung over the bed, hacking, and the nurse laid a gentle hand on his back until he was no longer heaving.

"What is your name?" she asked, and Allen glanced up at her, wary. She must have read the mistrust in his eyes because she continued in that same soft voice, "You are perfectly safe here. You can trust me." Her voice was gentle, but her eyes and the way she held her body—she was on guard.

Allen didn't have the energy to scoff at her. He wasn't safe anywhere. She sat back after a moment and said in a more business-like tone, "Can you tell me what you last remember?"

He considered it. She did seem to legitimately be a doctor; not only did she look the part but his wrists were wrapped up in bandages under the restraints and felt better, as did his ankles. He'd forgotten, in the rush to leave the Order, that his injuries from imprisonment were still not taken care of. He raised his free arm, staring at the bandages—that looked a little too much like the bonds Link had used on him. He shuddered and shook his head.

"Do you live in the village below?" Madame Pomfrey tried next, realizing he wouldn't answer. "I've never seen you before, but did you just move in? Is there a family member or a guardian I could get in touch with?"

Allen swallowed and shook his head. "I'm alone," he said, his voice oddly hoarse, his throat sore, and he saw the nurse's shoulders relax marginally—perhaps she'd thought he couldn't talk, and was relieved when he finally had.

"Alright." She turned and picked up a bottle filled with sickly-green liquid, and Allen's stomach flipped at the sight. It didn't look appetizing. She poured out a dose, and handed it to him. Taking it Allen stared at it, frowning, before cautiously taking a sip. He gagged and spit it out a moment later, pulling a face. She didn't look impressed. "Drink up, all of it."

"Do I have to?" he said softly.

"Every drop."

Allen resisted the urge to up-chuck as he finished the horrid potion off. When that was done he asked for a glass of water. "What was that?"

"Muscle Mend Mix," she replied. "It won't fix the ripped tendons immediately, but it will speed the progress."

Ripped tendons? "What?" He didn't remember getting hurt.

"What do you remember last? Can you tell me?" He remembered the screaming girl, and running over, then touching something that glittered green… When he told the nurse as much, she nodded as if confirming something she already knew.

"What happened to that girl?" Allen asked, hating how sore his throat was and how hoarse he sounded.

"She's being taken to St. Mungo's for treatment," the nurse said. "She'll be well cared for there. Right now, however, we will focus on your recovery."

"Can I have the other hand free?" he asked, and only after getting another promise that he wouldn't do anything was the restraint unlocked.

Allen tried to stand up, but as he pushed the covers off and Madame Pomfrey pushed him down, trying to keep him in bed, he froze at the sight of bandages all around his legs and then his arms.

"But…why are my legs…?" he whispered, his voice barely coming out, his eyes and mind barely registering the fact that his ankles were restricted to the bed.

"They were damaged when the curse was taking its effect. You attempted to fight it, but it took a toll. You will need to keep off your feet for about a week. I've given you medicine to repair the muscle, but you will be on crutches for some time, I'm afraid. There were also injuries to your ankles and wrists that were from before the curse, and I've tended to those as well. The thrashing didn't help." She didn't ask where these came from, for which Allen was grateful. But what did she mean, thrashing…?

"What happened? Why am I here?" The nurse explained what had happened to him and the girl in the other bed in soft tones. During her explanation, he could hear the other voices outside leaving, and then glanced around.

"Where's Timcampy?" he said. At her expression he added, "The golden thing that was with me?"

"I don't know, dear," she said. "He disappeared a while ago. I haven't seen him." Allen's chest constricted and he felt cold. Why would Tim leave? What had happened to make him go away?

"I have to find Tim," he said, and made to get up. She pushed his arms away with surprising strength, and held his gaze as she shook her head.

"Absolutely not. Your legs are severely injured and you are not moving from this bed until I say so." Allen made to resist, but whatever strength he normally had had left him; Madame Pomfrey was able to easily keep him in bed. After a few more moments he stopped struggling.

Madame Pomfrey said comfortingly, "I'm sure he'll show up soon, dear. Until then, I want you to stay here and take your potions. I need to make sure that whatever cursed you has no long-term effects."

"How long will that take?"

"As I've said: if you keep with the doses and don't strain yourself, a week of bed rest and then some time on crutches."

He'd have to accept it. It wasn't desirable, but Allen could sit still for a week and get a better plan together while he recovered from…whatever it was that had caused him so much pain. Knowing his body and willpower, he could probably convince the nurse to let him go sooner than that. Maybe Tim had gone looking for the Ark entrance, so that when he got better, they could get out of here immediately. Wherever here was…

"Where is this place?" he asked.

Madame Pomfrey replied, "Scotland, though the exact location is not something I could tell you."

Scotland. He was in _Scotland!?_

His guess of England, earlier, was wrong, but it still wasn't good to be this close to the Order. Something must have showed in his expression because Madame Pomfrey frowned and said, "Is everything alright? Do you feel any pain?" No, no things were not alright.

His rumbling stomach interrupted all thoughts of not being far enough. He smiled sheepishly at the nurse, who sighed. "I'll have food sent up."

Allen nodded, playing complacent. She rose, gathering potions' bottles, and just as she was going to walk off, Allen said softly, "Thank you."

She turned back a moment and nodded, some of the caution from before slipping away. "You can thank me when you walk out of here without help. Now, rest."

Allen sat there watching as she cleaned up the bottles before leaving, closing a partition around his bed for privacy.

A little while later, she returned with a bowl of broth and an oddly-colored orange juice that tasted like nothing he'd ever had before. He loved it. The meal was gone all too quickly and Allen silently lamented about being unable to walk around. He'd tried when the nurse was gone; removing the restraints hadn't been too hard, but putting any weight on his legs sent shots of pain through his whole body and he'd collapsed on the bed, holding in screams. He'd been hit worse than this—hell he'd had his entire arm blasted off his body and a hole in his heart—but that didn't mean it didn't still hurt. He'd had to pull himself back into the bed, and his arms were still shaky from the effort.

The remembrance made his mind echo in screams and he clutched at his blankets, biting his lip until he drew blood as a voice in his brain echoed softly, "I will keep you together," so softly he wanted to believe he imagined it. He had to take several minutes to remind himself that he was awake and whatever had happened after he touched that thrice-damned green glitter was over.

Hoping the nurse would stay gone for a while longer, he sat up and silently activated his Innocence, hoping no one saw the light of invocation and came looking. Placing his hand over his left wrist he tugged; the sword came free, and Allen was careful not to pull it out above the partition—easier said than done, since the thing was huge. Satisfied that it stilled worked, he replaced the weapon, his arm returning to normal. His wrist was a little sore still, but whatever medical magic Madame Pomfrey had worked on them had done wonders.

Relief like he hadn't had in weeks ran through him, though his head was beginning to hurt and his throat was aching horribly. He'd have to ask if she had anything for sleep—just something that knocked him out enough to keep the nightmares at bay. And perhaps something for his throat, too.

Allen fell asleep a little while later, though he did not dream.

* * *

A/N: Kudos to KappasRule for looking this over and cleaning it up. Welp, stuff happened. Long-ass chapter, I know. I don't have any set chapter lengths, I'm going off how each one feels. So you, lovely reader, have not signed up for such long-ass chapters like this one every time; only sometimes. And that's all for now. Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When the sunlight had risen and the room came alight, Allen woke up and was served a light breakfast before being asked a few more questions—how did he feel, did he remember anything more, could he recall his experiences before waking up in the hospital wing? Allen wasn't forthcoming, so instead of pushing it, the nurse checked his bandages, gave him more Muscle Mend Mix, and left him alone.

Later that morning, Madame Pomfrey returned to his bedside, followed by an old and stern-looking woman who immediately made Allen feel like he'd done something wrong. Swallowing past his sore throat, which was still hurting, he waited for her to speak.

"Hello. My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress. I came by because I wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Alright," Allen replied.

"First of all, what is your name?" Allen didn't immediately answer and McGonagall sighed. "I want to assure you that you are perfectly safe inside Hogwarts' walls, young man. If there is a reason you feel otherwise, I hope you would tell me."

A slew of sarcastic, self-deprecating responses flooded Allen's head. "My name is Allen Walker," he replied instead, carefully polite.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Walker," she said crisply, and Allen just nodded. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" He hesitated and then nodded, his expression carefully blank.

"Yesterday afternoon, you were walking in Hogsmeade village when you came across Katie Bell and the others, correct?"

"Is Katie Bell the girl who was screaming?" he said, his voice still waspy from his own screaming.

"That's correct. Can you tell me what you saw?"

He answered, "I was walking down the street when I saw her suddenly float into the air and then she started screaming. I went over to see what was happening."

"Do you remember what happened next?" He nodded.

"Before she started screaming, I saw she and her friend were fighting over something-it looked like a package-and so when I came over there I reached over to see what was in the package and…" he paused, as the remembrance of horrid pain filled his head. Shaking it off he finished, "Next thing I know, I'm here."

"Can you recall anything, anything at all, before waking up?" He didn't reply.

After a few minutes, McGonagall cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Poppy mentioned that you said you were alone. Where are your parents?"

No point lying here. "Don't have any."

McGonagall nodded in understanding and then went on, "Are you traveling with a guardian? Someone we could get in touch with?"

"No." Link's face flashed through Allen's mind and his chest constricted in guilt. Swallowing, he shook his head. "Like I said, I'm alone."

"Why were you in Hogsmeade, if you don't live there?"

"I'm just passing through," he replied, a note of annoyance coloring his voice.

"Where are you going, if I may ask…?"

"Why are you asking me so many questions?" he answered, his voice coming out clipped.

McGonagall straightened up at that and replied crisply, "With the recent circumstances, I need to make sure you are safe."

Allen frowned, not entirely certain what she meant. "Circumstances?" McGonagall exchanged a look with Madame Pomfrey. Allen glanced between them and asked, "Is there something I should know?"

Looking a bit confused herself, the professor's frown deepened and she replied, "With the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, you'll understand our precaution."

Allen's confusion only deepened. "Who?"

She and Madame Pomfrey exchanged another look, surprise etched on both their faces. McGonagall then shook her head, pushing away whatever thought she was having, turning her full attention back to Allen. "I think that is enough for today. Thank you for talking with me, Mr. Walker. I hope you are back on your feet soon."

"Me too," Allen replied back dryly, glad to see her out of there. She rose and Madame Pomfrey followed her out. They were talking quickly to one another, but the words were so soft and garbled he couldn't make them out, so gave up. Whatever it was they were worried about, Allen decided that all it meant was that he needed to get better and get the hell out of here—the sooner, the better.

He heard the doors closing and then Madame Pomfrey returned to tell him that lunch would arrive shortly and sat with him, talking about when to take his potions (there were three, all equally foul-tasting) and how much. She stressed several times not to strain his legs—or any part of his body, if he could help it.

"I believe that should be everything. Is there anything more you'd like to know, Mr. Walker?"

"Um, do you have anything for sleep?"

She nodded. "Do you need a sleep aide or something for bad dreams?"

"Bad dreams."

She nodded and said, "I'll give you some Dreamless Draught before bed."

"Thank you." And Allen truly meant it.

The rest of the afternoon and another day passed where Allen was restricted to bed. He'd tried to walk about, but his legs had crumpled underneath him, just as painful and debilitating as last night. He took his potions, hoping it was worth the horrific taste. Madame Pomfrey checked on him every few hours, asking how he felt, and if he could remember anything, to which he continued to lie. Mostly, Allen just slept, drifting into dreamless naps every few hours. It was as if his body was catching up with lost opportunities—and to be fair, it was. Allen hadn't had a proper night's sleep in…well, too long.

He would have to ask the nurse where she got her sleep medicine. He definitely wanted more of that.

When he was awake, he listened in on conversations of teenagers who came in, reporting the strangest ailments—from fish gills growing on their throats to one memorable student who came in vomiting hair balls. Listening to _that_ subside had made Allen almost sick himself.

Madame Pomfrey kept the partition up around his bed, for privacy she said, but Allen couldn't help but wonder if that was the real reason. She didn't look at him with quite as much mistrust, but even so, when there were students inside, he could hear shocked whispers asking what happened to the wing, why were the windows broken, what kind of monster made those marks in the stone…and listened to Madame Pomfrey's vague responses and hurried changes in topic. And Allen couldn't help but wonder if the real reason that Madame Pomfrey kept the partition around his bed was to protect her charges from the monster that destroyed the room.

xox

The story of Katie Bell being cursed had spread across the school within hours, but the next morning, the story of the boy who'd been cursed with her _waking up_ while she'd been sent to St. Mungo's for further care spread even faster. Descriptions of the damaged hospital wing spread with them, and it didn't take a genius to put two-and-two together and assume that the boy caused the destruction.

Speculations of what the boy was or how he could have recovered so quickly were soon on the tongues of everyone, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were no exceptions. Harry was still upset with his friends for not siding with him on Malfoy being the curser, but he was now just as curious of how someone could have recovered from it so quickly.

"Maybe he knows what happened," Harry speculated aloud at lunch, though Hermione shook her head.

"I doubt it. I think he was just passing by and got caught up in it."

"But who is he? He's our age but I've never seen him around the school before."

Ron shrugged. "Who knows? I say we be glad the bloke's woken up and be done with it."

Harry wasn't entirely satisfied with that, but then Ginny came by with a notice for his next lesson with Dumbledore, and soon the matter of the boy who was cursed with Katie Bell was pushed aside for another day.

* * *

A/N: Long wait for a measly thousand words. Next chapter is a bit more interesting if I say so myself. :) ALSO WHO'S EXCITED ABOUT VOLUME 24 AND NEW LAVI ART I MEAN ADFKLJSKJKJFDKJ~! ...Ahem.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

By Allen's third day in the hospital wing, he was restless, bored, and worst of all, hungry.

"Please, I promise not to strain myself," he begged Madame Pomfrey with his most winning smile. "I need to walk around."

"Let's see if you can walk before we talk about taking meals elsewhere," she replied, and Allen surprised her by standing on his feet and taking a few unsteady steps on his own, his hand on the bed the whole time. Allen's legs still weren't working properly, even after the potions and spells. Still, he no longer collapsed on his feet.

"Walk up and down the length of the wing," she commanded, handing him a pair of crutches and helping him adjust them to his height. Madame Pomfrey pushed aside the partition and Allen limped a few steps forward, then stopped and stared.

He stared at the deep gauges in the stone floor, the boarded-up hole where the windows once were, the chunks missing in the walls. He stared, and Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Did I…?" he asked softly, knowing the truth.

"Walk up and down the length of the wing," Madame Pomfrey ordered again, her voice softer, and he looked away from the damage he'd caused and did as she said. Only after several more tests and making sure he got the hang of the crutches did Madame Pomfrey give the OK for him to go to the dining hall.

"I'll call Professor McGonagall to escort you down. And you must promise me not to eat too much—you are still recovering and too much food will make you sick." Allen stared at her a moment, not quite having the heart to inform her that his idea of "too much" and her idea were probably quite different.

"I'm sure I can find the hall on my own," he tried instead, to which he got a stern look and a firm, "No."

"Hogwarts is confusing enough for those of us who've been here for years. A newcomer like you will need a guide. That's my condition for you going down." When she'd turned around and gone back to her office, Allen stuck his tongue out at her. He was certain that it was just an excuse, anyway.

_No matter where I go_, he lamented silently. _I can't be trusted to be by myself._

He missed Timcampy. He still hasn't seen Tim once since waking up—and it scared him more than he could say. Without Tim, he was lost—the one companion he had left. The first thing he was going to do when he was out of here was find Tim, even if he had to crawl around on his hands and knees to do it.

His stomach growled noisily, protesting that priority for a more immediate need. The doors to the wing opened and the stern woman from before, McGonagall, walked inside. She eyed the crutches tucked under Allen's arms and then said crisply, "The Great Hall is this way, if you'll follow me."

Allen nodded, and soon saw why Madame Pomfrey had insisted on him having a guide. This place was an absolute maze. He was lost before they left the floor, and gaped at the moving staircases and portraits. Moving pictures—he'd stopped and stared like a total idiot until McGonagall called him over, sounding impatient and, if he'd had a mind to catch it, a bit surprised.

They finally reached the bottom floor, Allen's head reeling from the moving stairs, the talking pictures, the sheer size of this place—his mouth seemed unhinged from his jaw, unable to remain shut. McGonagall glanced back at this strange boy, and couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up. The boy was like a Muggleborn first year—wide-eyed and overawed by the majesty of the castle. In someone his age, it was both refreshing and just a tiny bit confusing.

"Here we are," she announced crisply, hiding the curiosity and motioning to the doors of the Great Hall—which were several feet tall and made of heavy oak. Allen turned back toward her, his mouth finally closing, and glanced nervously at the doors, and then the front entrance leading outside, several yards away. With a resigned sigh, he nodded and followed McGonagall inside.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and several students looked over to watch a white-haired stranger limp inside, supported by crutches. Furious whispers went up as more people turned around to get a good look. Allen saw this and sighed, turning toward McGonagall as she came in behind him.

"Sit anywhere you like," she said, motioning to the four tables before him. "When you're finished you can find me at the front table—" she pointed toward it and Allen nodded, "and then we can go see Professor Dumbledore. He is the headmaster and wants to speak with you about what happened."

Allen nodded to indicate he understood. "Thank you," Allen said, offering up a small smile.

McGonagall nodded and walked off. Allen glanced around and picked the table to his immediate right, picking a seat away from the staring crowd of students in blue ties. He leaned the crutches against the table, and, carefully maneuvering, swung his legs over the bench. Then he realized he didn't have any food, but there hadn't been a window or a buffet line—

He blinked and where there had been empty table space before, a veritable feast of steaming vegetables, rice, pasta, baskets of rolls, and even an entire roast chicken sat in front of him. A pitcher of that strange orange juice sat a little to the side. Allen stared, mouth agape, and then pinched himself.

"I've died and gone to Heaven," he muttered, reaching out and filling his plate. Taking a bite into a chicken leg he nearly cried. It was so good!

The whole chicken was soon gone, along with the side dishes. To Allen's joy the meal replenished itself and soon he had cleared several rounds of dishes, each time replenishing itself with fresh food. Students stared as the stranger packed the food away and from the head table McGonagall's mouth hung open.

"You have a swarm of snorkaks hovering above your head, you know." Allen started and nearly choked on his pilaf. As he coughed, he looked up to see a girl with white-blond hair and a slightly vacant expression staring serenely down at him. Throat clear, Allen stared a moment longer and then replied, "I'm sorry?"

"Snorkaks. They like to nest in people's ears and give them bad dreams."

"Oh," Allen replied dumbly, setting his fork down. "That's nice."

"I suppose. My name is Luna Lovegood. What's yours?"

"Allen Walker."

"It's nice to meet you, Allen Walker. May I join you?"

"Uh, sure," Allen said, gesturing at the place beside him. Luna joined him and a smaller setting of lunch appeared in front her. Unmoved by the display, Luna stacked her plate with rice pilaf and veggies, as Allen looked on hungrily.

"You can have the rest, if you want."

"Oh, thanks," he replied, and reached for the plates, pulling them in front of him and getting started. They ate in silence for a while, Allen polishing off the bowl of pilaf while Luna ate more slowly.

"So you are the student who survived the curse." He glanced at her, and then just nodded, not knowing how else to react.

"I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"Uh, no," Allen replied, feeling a bit awkward. "I'm just passing through."

"What happened to your legs? You were limping when you came in."

"I…ran into something," Allen replied unsteadily, and then swallowed and repeated more confidently, "I ran into something."

"What did you run into?"

Allen stared at her. She seemed harmless. Her gaze remained on his face as she unflinchingly and patiently waited for his reply. "Uh…I…I don't really remember, I must have hit my head," Allen answered. It sounded weak even to him, but Luna didn't seem phased as she nodded.

Quite frankly, he had no idea what was wrong with his legs. They'd been alright before, when he'd escaped the Order, only hurting from the restraints put on them. Whatever the "curse" had been, it had so debilitated him that he couldn't walk without help and even his arms weren't as strong as they should have been. It worried him that he'd be defenseless if an Akuma decided to attack. If he hadn't tested it himself, he would have thought that whatever had happened to his body had affected his Innocence. He was grateful that wasn't the case, but all the same…

"Madame Pomfrey may be able to help you with that. She has some memory repair charms, I think. I'm fairly certain she does…it's a tricky business, memory charms."

"Charms?" Allen stared at her, eyebrow raised and doubtful. "Memory charms?" She nodded once, completely serious.

"Yes, memory charms."

Allen desperately needed to change the subject. "Um…so…the food. It's really great."

Taking the change in stride, Luna nodded again. "Hm, yes. The house elves prepare it down in the kitchens and then magic it back up to the Hall. That way we don't ever see them. Sort of a shame really, I think they're rather cute."

"House elves," Allen replied blankly, food untouched as he stared at this strange girl. "What's a house elf?"

For the first time some of the vacancy left her expression. "It's a little creature, they serve wizards?" The way she said it, it wasn't judgmental or demeaning; it was as if she was realizing something and merely trying to help Allen understand.

"Wizards."

"Yes, wizards," she replied, again without judgment.

"Oh." Allen said, staring. Then it clicked together in his mind and he exclaimed, "Wait, _magic_?!" Some other students who heard Allen's exclamation glanced over, but Allen was too occupied to notice.

"Well, yes, how did you think it appeared there?"

"I…uh…I don't know! It was just…" He gestured with his hands, trying to find the words, and then sputtered out, "It was there one minute, and, and…! What the—my plates are gone—" He sputtered again, hands hovering over empty space until more dishes appeared and Allen gasped out, "DESSERT."

Luna watched, amused, as Allen began to pile onto a fresh plate cakes and truffles and pastries and puddings and all kinds of treats that were sweet, delicious, and cold. So did other students, gaping at the fact that this kid who'd just eaten enough food for an entire House by himself was packing away even more food, a look of absolute delight on his face.

If Heaven consisted of magically appearing food, perhaps dying wasn't so bad after all. After being practically starved over the last month, karma seemed on his side as he sat and enjoyed every morsel and Allen was certain he'd never enjoyed food this much in his life… Alright, that was a stretch, but this was divine.

Allen glanced over at Luna, who was smiling slightly at him, and paused, setting his fork down and wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Um…sorry, I uh, eat a lot."

"I noticed. How can you eat so much and not feel sick afterwards?"

"Who said I wouldn't feel sick afterwards?"

"Well it's been 30 minutes; you would have started by now."

"Oh," Allen replied sheepishly. It wasn't as if he could just explain it away by telling her about the parasitic quality of his Innocence. Besides, he wasn't staying that long, and it would open up a whole can of worms that simply wasn't worth getting into. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You're sick, you need to recover."

Allen stared, and then looked around for an untouched dessert—there was a slice of chocolate cake left and he slid it over to Luna. "Here. Before I eat it all."

She took the cake. "Thank you."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Luna enjoying the cake and Allen enjoying everything else. He glanced at her; she was a little strange, but made for good company. What she'd been saying before, though—

"So, wait a second, you said this place was magic?" Everything could be explained as either a hoax or Innocence; Allen knew this.

To which Luna glanced at him thoughtfully and then said, "Are you a Muggle?"

"A what?"

"Oh you are. That's nice. I like meeting Muggleborns, they always have such interesting perspectives on things."

"Wait, what the hell's a Muggle?"

"It's a non-magical person."

"A non-magical—are you kidding me?"

"No," she replied back simply.

Allen wasn't sure which one of them was making the least sense at the moment. "Show me then."

Luna pulled out her wand, flicked it, and out burst several birds, chirping around Allen's head for a minute before flying off to the rafters in the ceiling. Allen followed their flight and then just stared at the ceiling—or lack thereof, mouth hanging open.

"It's enchanted to show the sky."

He glanced back at her and then the table, pointed at it and with a small voice asked, "Magic?"

"Magic."

Allen stared around, and then took a good look at the room he was sitting in. Candles were suspended without supports in the air, wax drippings settling around the base and not falling on people's heads; the enchanted ceiling with its partly cloudy sky; Luna's wand; the sudden appearance of the food…the way his wounds had just disappeared without even a faint scarring. The fact that he'd felt close to death before and he'd woken up more refreshed than he'd felt in over a year. Even his legs were doing much better than they normally might have, given the circumstances… The fact that the girl Katie Bell had levitated in the air…

None of it made sense normally. Even his experience with Innocence and the strangeness of his own life couldn't necessarily support what he was seeing now. But magic…?

Well, on second thought, perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised. Wasn't his own master a sorcerer in his own right, and wasn't what the Science Division at Headquarters did with Innocence practically magic? Komui and his crazy experiments that didn't involve robots? Allen remembered the zombie/ghost incident at the old HQ and shuddered.

"Are you alright?" Allen turned back to Luna, whose gaze was focused on him, genuine concern in her eyes.

"Luna, where exactly am I?"

"You're at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"And where is that?"

"Scotland."

That matched what Madame Pomfrey had told him yesterday. "Luna, how well hidden is this place? I mean…" How did he explain why he was asking?

She stared openly, her gaze seeming to look straight into him. It made Allen's insides squirm, but he kept eye contact, waiting. After a moment she replied, "There are anti-Muggle wards and other enchantments around the grounds to keep students protected. Why do you ask?"

Allen shrugged, looking away and scrambling for a reason. "I was just curious. I've never heard of any of this. It must be a well-kept secret."

"It is," she replied matter-of-factly. Allen had to wonder if Lavi had ever heard of this place. Maybe. Probably. He wondered if his master had…sadness came over Allen at the thought of Cross, and Luna noticed.

"Do you need to go back to the hospital wing?"

"Uh…" Allen then just nodded. Standing up, Luna helped him keep his balance until he got the crutches situated. Turning back and favoring his left side Allen smiled at Luna.

"Thanks for sitting with me."

"Of course. See you around, Allen."

"Yeah." Allen turned and hobbled up to the head table, ignoring the stares as he stopped in front of McGonagall. "I'm ready to see Mr. Dumbledore."

She nodded and rose. "Alright then, if you'll follow me."

As they walked, climbing moving staircases, Allen tried not to gape at all the moving pictures again, since he was thinking. Magic…magic might just be his ticket to stopping the Fourteenth. Maybe he could be saved after all.

* * *

A/N: _Random evil thought: _Allen gets hit with an _Obliviate_, loses all his memories, and Neah takes over gleefully. Game Over. :D

To the guest last chapter with the question about Volume 24 (though I think I know who you are): Pour répondre à votre question, oui, Hoshino est toujours en pause mais le volume 24 du manga vient d'être publié au Japon, et les traductions (au moins aux États-Unis, pas sûr de France, mais je ne pense pas que ce serait aussi différent pour vous les gars) devrait être dans les 6 prochains mois, j'espère. Il ya des scans de figurants d'art sur tumblr, c'est pour ça que je suis excité. :)

One last thing: positive thoughts and prayers to the people in the Philippines affected by typhoon Haiyen. If you're able, donations can be given to the Philippines Red Cross at www. redcross. org .ph / donate, or through your country's branch of the Red Cross. There are also resources through UNICEF, Habitat for Humanity, and others.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

McGonagall and Allen stopped at the end of a corridor where the statue of a large griffon stood, wings spread. The stone figure glared down at Allen and he glanced nervously at McGonagall.

"Licorice snaps," she said in a clear voice, and Allen frowned at her in question before the stone in front of him moved. Jumping, Allen couldn't help but stare as a staircase appeared before him. McGonagall stepped forward and turned back to Allen.

"Are you coming, Mr. Walker?"

"Oh, yeah," Allen said, and hobbled onto the steps. The stone beneath his feet groaned and a spinning escalator took them to the top of the staircase and stopped in front of a wooden door.

McGonagall knocked and a voice from within called, "Come in." McGonagall opened the door and Allen followed, hobbling inside and then stopping to take it all in. McGonagall shut the door behind him and let him gape.

It was a round room, with portraits all over the walls. Various instruments, of the like Allen had never seen, were set here and there among the office. Bookshelves took up the rest of the wall space, and despite all the stuff, the space was laid out in orderly chaos. A bird in blazing reds and oranges was sitting atop a perch, cooing at him.

"You must be Mr. Walker," a kind voice said, and Allen looked over to see an ancient man with the longest white beard smiling down at him, bright, intelligent blue eyes looking at him from behind half-moon glasses. He wore a long robe and a funny pointed hat. Allen bowed slightly, which got a surprised look from McGonagall and a small, curious smile from the old man.

"Allen Walker, sir," Allen introduced.

"And I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. Would you like some tea? Biscuits?" A stern warning glance from McGonagall had Allen stammering out a quick no, and Dumbledore motioned toward a chair. "Then let's sit and talk about your situation, Mr. Walker. I would have liked to visit you earlier, but circumstances prevented this."

Allen hobbled over, perched the crutches against the back of his chair, and sat, still staring around the office. Several of the portraits stared back, whispering amongst themselves. Dumbledore looked up at them and said, "Please quiet down." They did, which surprised Allen even more. It was almost as if the paintings and their subjects had a life of their own.

"I gather from your expression that you are not familiar with magic, Mr. Walker."

Pulling away from the décor and back to the conversation, Allen sighed and admitted, "I didn't think a place like this existed, that's for sure." He didn't see McGonagall's surprise from behind him, as well as the dawning realization as confusing aspects of their earlier conversations suddenly made a lot more sense to her.

Dumbledore settled into his chair behind the desk and considered Allen, his full attention on the boy. "How did you come to Hogwarts?"

Allen didn't reply immediately, because he didn't know what to say to this man. Certainly not the truth. "I was traveling through the area."

"Madame Pomfrey reported the status of your injuries to me this morning." Allen said nothing.

"Where are you from, Mr. Walker?"

"England, sir. I've travelled most of my life, though."

"Oh?" Dumbledore said, seemingly truly interested. "Where?"

Allen figured it was okay to answer. "India, Italy, Romania, all around Europe, China, Japan…everywhere," he ended in a shrug. McGonagall raised her eyebrows at the list, though Allen couldn't see. Dumbledore's gaze didn't move from Allen as he too looked intrigued.

"You must have been separated from your family, then, if you ended up here."

Allen's mouth felt dry and he had to swallow a couple times. "I don't have a family," he said, his voice quiet, and Dumbledore nodded, a brief flash of understanding in his eyes.

He watched the white-haired boy sitting in front of him, with his strange scar. His eyes were those of an older man, though the boy himself couldn't have been more than sixteen—Harry's age.

Albus was curious, admittedly; one look at the scar down Walker's face told him it was cursed, and his eyes flicked toward the boy's left arm, which he was nursing with the other, probably unconsciously. His left hand was pitch black and strangely textured, but not the right, and he considered the next question carefully before speaking.

"Mr. Walker, I hope I'm not prying too much, but how did you receive that curse over your eye?"

Allen straightened up suddenly, eyes wide in shock as he stared at Dumbledore. "How can you see it?" he asked, the words rushing out in a shocked whisper, and Dumbledore realized he must have stepped on a land mine because the boy's eyes were defensive and fierce.

"I am sorry," he replied calmly. "That was insensitive."

Allen slowly forced himself to relax, though his gaze remained wary as he regarded Dumbledore. "How can you tell?" he asked cautiously.

Dumbledore lowered his hands into his lap and simply replied, "I am a very old and experienced wizard, and I have seen my fair share of curses in that time. I know the signs." He lifted his left arm and the robe covering it fell back; Allen's eyes widened as he took in the charred skin that made up the remains of the old man's hand. "As you can see, I am not unfamiliar with curses and their marks."

Allen nodded, slowly, and Dumbledore covered his hand once again. A lull fell over the conversation then, where Dumbledore studied the boy as Allen looked anywhere except at him. The ticking of a clock filled the air, and Dumbledore waited.

"I was ten," Allen said quietly. Dumbledore nodded in encouragement, though Allen was looking away and didn't see. He wasn't sure why the words were there, why he was telling this to a stranger. But there was something about Dumbledore that inspired confidence in him. And the more he talked, the more Allen realized that telling Dumbledore might be the right move. "My father had just died and I was alone. I…I tried to bring him back to life and it failed. Because of that, I was cursed." Dumbledore stilled and McGonagall looked over at the boy, horrified.

"How did you do this?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"A man who came to the grave told me he could do it. I was desperate and I agreed. And for a little while it seemed like it was true; Mana was back." Allen swallowed as he remembered, and Dumbledore sensed there was much more to the story, but said nothing as the boy continued. "Mana cursed me before he died the second time."

Allen reached over and rolled up his sleeve to reveal not just a blackened hand, but a blackened arm, and as Dumbledore got a better look he saw that the boy's hand had scales like a Chinese rooftop at the joints and knuckles of his fingers and a glowing green cross embedded into the back of his hand.

"I was born with a deformed arm, and that green cross has been there all my life. That night I learned what it was and why I was born that way. I possess something called Innocence, and with it I killed my father." Softly he finished, "I had to, because he tried to kill me." _And I had to free his soul from that hell_, was what he didn't say.

Silence followed the tale. Ticking and metallic clinks could be heard. McGonagall's hand was at her mouth, and Dumbledore regarded the boy in front of him, his face not showing what he was feeling or thinking except for sympathy.

"It wasn't really him, either. I should have known better; the dead are supposed to remain dead. What that man brought back is something called an Akuma, a weapon made of a soul and a machine. When someone loses a loved one, this man comes to them with the promise of a second chance, but when the soul is called it is trapped in the Akuma's skeleton, and the Akuma is made to kill the one who called it. Afterward it takes on the skin of its loved one, and hides among other humans, killing as it's ordered. Innocence is the only thing that can kill these Akuma. And that's why I travel, to destroy Akuma wherever they appear."

Dumbledore stared at the boy. He knew the intimacies of magic, its laws and rules and quite a bit of its dark side. He had never heard of such a thing, or such a person. "I am sorry," he said, because it was the right thing to say. The only thing, really. Allen just nodded, pulled his sleeve down, thinking. At last, he looked up at Dumbledore, and the determination in his eyes was bright and clear.

"What can magic do?"

Dumbledore didn't immediately reply, but then said diplomatically, "That depends on what you need it to do."

"I…" Allen stalled again, thoughts racing. He'd told this man about Akuma and his Innocence, but now came to the tough part. "I have a…condition, due to my circumstances." He rubbed at his temple, as if fighting a headache. Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, and some of the pressure seemed to ease off. "Normal things haven't worked for me, but perhaps with magic, I can cure myself."

"And what is this condition, if I may ask?"

Allen willed himself to summon his mastery of poker faces and said calmly, "Some symptoms include a…uh, discoloration of the skin and eyes, and sometimes wounds will appear on the body, at random. It's rare; only a few people in the world are known to have ever had it, and it will definitely kill me if I don't find a cure."

It was the truth, in a manner of speaking. And Allen had thought of ways to describe turning into a Noah without actually telling anyone he was turning into a Noah since his capture at headquarters. He hadn't known then if he would escape or not, but he'd certainly been thinking about it. The otherwise wordy explanation was something he'd pulled from a book before the Alma Karma incident. He'd been looking things up as secretly as he could—trying to find something to keep the Fourteenth back, to slow the change.

Dumbledore had remained silent as he considered the boy before him. Legilimency told him that the child was telling the truth, if nothing more; common sense and experience told him that he was leaving a lot out. Whatever the boy's secret, he seemed determined to keep it.

"Have you ever used magic, Mr. Walker? Done something that you couldn't explain, that had no explanation other than perhaps magic?"

Allen thought for a little while and then shook his head. "Anything I've ever come across can be explained as a hoax, a trick of the hand, or Innocence."

"If you cannot use magic, I do not know how we could help you."

"I have to try."

Dumbledore regarded him. Allen sat straight in his seat, waiting, determined, and cautious. While the old man did not look outright suspicious, there was a perceptiveness to him that warned Allen. He had to play his cards right here—and it wasn't like cheating was going to help him. Even after only a few minutes Allen realized that this was a man who was not easily fooled. He definitely knew Allen was keeping things out—he just had to wonder if the old man would push for the remaining information.

"Mr. Walker, if there is something you are not telling me that could possibly endanger my students and Hogwarts, I wish you would be candid. I will not allow for anything to threaten the well-being of my charges here."

Allen swallowed. Well, that hadn't taken long. "It's…it's sensitive, sir."

"Mr. Walker, if you cannot perform magic of any kind, I am not sure how we can help you, or how anything here can help you, with your 'condition'. If there is another reason you wish to remain at the castle, I would ask to know what it is."

Allen swallowed again and decided this was another truth better told. "I'm being chased by some people, and they're threatening my life. It's…uh…it's related to my condition. They're the ones responsible, and they want me back." Mostly true.

"Who are these people?"

"…They call themselves the Noah." There was no spark of recognition in Dumbledore's eye; he was just as clueless on this as he had been about Akuma. That was good.

"Are the Noah a threat to my students?"

"No. They would be only after me; they wouldn't bother anyone else," he lied. "I was talking to a girl earlier who said that Hogwarts is protected by magic, and if that's the case they may not be able to find you." _I hope they can't find you_, Allen added in his head. After all, he'd found Hogwarts, hadn't he? Using the Ark, no less. What was to say the Noah wouldn't? He shut those thoughts down as soon as they surfaced, needing to believe that they couldn't touch him here.

Dumbledore continued to regard Allen critically. "Which brings me back to the question: how did you arrive at Hogsmeade, Mr. Walker?"

"I don't know." And he wasn't about to tell the truth, even after everything he had revealed. Akuma were one thing; the Ark was something altogether different. Talking about the Ark would lead to having to explain what it was, where it came from—which would lead to who the Noah actually were, what he was becoming. Explaining the Ark would lead to explaining everything he was leaving out.

Dumbledore exchanged a glance with McGonagall, and gave a small shake of the head. Allen wondered but said nothing, waiting for Dumbledore's verdict.

"It will comfort you to know that Hogwarts is very well protected. Included in those protections are enchantments meant to keep Muggles like you from finding or remembering the castle for what it is. Though I do not know why you are immune, I will be happy to house you until you are fully recovered from your injuries. Afterward, we can discuss your situation." Dumbledore rose, and Allen also climbed to his feet, holding onto the chair until the crutches were situated under his arms. Holding out his hand, Dumbledore shook Allen's hand and said, "It was certainly interesting to meet you Mr. Walker. Until next time."

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

"You will stay in our guest quarters after your release from the hospital wing, and I ask that you limit yourself to the hospital wing, the Great Hall, and your room, for now."

Allen nodded after a minute. At least they weren't locking him up. "Thank you." Allen turned away to leave when an idea struck him.

"Professor?"

Dumbledore nodded. "What is it?"

"I had a friend with me. He's a little golden golem, about this big or so," Allen motioned with his hands, "and he's got wings. He was with me when I got hurt, but I haven't seen him since. He's called Timcanpy."

Dumbledore nodded. "If I see him I'll let you know." Allen released a heavy sigh of relief and flashed the first genuine smile the old wizard had seen him give.

After that Allen and McGonagall left, McGonagall leading him back to the hospital wing where Madame Pomfrey gave him a round of potions.

xox

It was another two days before Allen was deemed healthy enough to move to a guest room. He was now able to stand, at least, though his legs were shaky and he still needed the crutches.

Madame Pomfrey, while surprised at Allen's speedy recovery, reiterated the instructions for doses, and a stern warning to not overexert himself. She allowed his release on the condition that he report to the hospital wing every afternoon until his legs healed completely.

McGonagall took him downstairs to another small wing and lead him to a two-room suite, bedroom and bathroom, which were small but comfortable and inviting, and then left him alone with a reminder that dinner began serving at seven.

Allen surveyed his new quarters. The bedroom had a large window taking up most of the wall, with bright light streaming through. The coat of arms of the school was worked as a stained glass addition in the center of the window and on the doors of the rooms. Lush blue and gold-patterned carpet covered the floor, and the four-poster bed had thick black curtains where no light could peak through. There was even a fireplace, though the grate was empty.

When he checked out the bathroom he found that the coat of arms was embroidered into the towels as well—also black, and very fluffy. The room itself was well-equipped with shampoo, soap, shaving equipment and even an assortment of bubble bath potions. All in all, it was a nice space, warm and comfortable and a thousand times better than just about anything he'd ever lived in.

Allen had no doubts that magic had ways of keeping an eye on people, and no doubts that Dumbledore was doing just that by giving him his own room.

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, releasing a deep breath. It had been a strange few days. On the upside, the Fourteenth had remained silent. It was almost as if he wasn't there. Allen couldn't fathom why—and honestly, he could care less at the moment.

Relief, exhaustion, and overstimulation put him fast to sleep, and he didn't wake up again until dinnertime.

* * *

A/N: No, Allen will not become a wizard. But he just got an open invitation to explore a whole new world (Aladdin plays in the background).

_Note on Allen's reaction to Dumbledore seeing the curse on his eye_: considering everything that has happened prior to this meeting, Allen's reaction shouldn't be all that surprising: the curse that Mana put over him is the source of a lot of Allen's pain and—headcanon time—I believe that Neah was awoken in Allen when the curse was "cast" by Mana, and Allen seeing Akuma souls is actually a first sign of him becoming a Noah. (Just my thoughts, though. No evidence.) That curse is no longer something Allen just accepts; it is the source of all his troubles and secrets. Most people just see the scar over his eye, leaving Allen to explain that he's cursed only if he wants to, or when he has to, as was the case when he first arrived at the Order. That Dumbledore can see it for what it is without Allen explaining is really shocking—just one of the many things about the wizarding world that are going to surprise the kid.


End file.
